


Ridiculous

by Casstea



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casstea/pseuds/Casstea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camille had intervened and invited him to a party.</p><p>A fancy dress party. A <i>party</i>, in fancy dress. Dressing up in silly clothes and going to a <i>party.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Ridiculous

**Author's Note:**

> For Raven, who insisted I write something for this ship. I think I've managed to find a new OTP.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Death in Paradise, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“This is stupid,” Richard said, staring at the array of clothing that was laid across his bed.

It was hot, well it was _always_ hot. Sometimes Richard would dream of just _one_ day where there would be a delightful grey and overcast sky, and everyone would stop wearing such bright colours.

He pressed the bottle of water to his forehead, shutting his eyes to enjoy the cooling sensation spread though his forehead. Luckily it had been a quiet week, with only one petty theft on Thursday which had in fact turned out to be the victim’s grandson who had taken the money to pay for his alcohol addiction. It had been a rather good week, and Richard had been looking forward to a quiet weekend with only himself and Miss Austen.

However, Camille had intervened and invited him to a party.

A fancy dress party.

A party, in fancy dress.

Dressing up in silly clothes and going to a _party._

Richard had many problems with this idea. He didn’t like parties that much -he was banned from drinking tea (a disgrace he thought) and he had to talk with people outside of the working hours. Not that he didn’t mind his team, they were all lovely, it was that he just enjoyed sitting by himself with a good book for entertainment. After all, any television programs were out of the option considering they were all in French. Camille had still refused to return it to the proper programming found on the BBC.

 _This is ridiculous,_ Richard thought to himself, becoming even more frustrated by the minute. The incessant heat wasn’t helping his thoughts, and the water in the bottle he had firmly pressed against his forehead was beginning to lose its cool touch.

He had no clothing which would be adequate for a fancy dress party (he had been expressly told by Camille that he could _not_ come as ‘himself’) so he was left with random pieces of clothing and his father’s old RAF hat.

“This is stupid,” Richard sighed, putting the bottle of water down on the side and pinching the bridge of his nose. Even with his shirt sleeves rolled up, the heat was still there. It was beginning to addle his mind, the sea _outside_ seeming more tempting by the day to cool off in.

However, Richard knew that the day he went _swimming_ in the _sea_ of all places was the day that he was going to get a call from his beloved London to return him home.

“That’s a problem for another day,” Richard sighed, poking the items of clothing on the bed. It was a constant worry, hidden in the back of his mind that he was beginning to _like_ the sun drenched sands and the incessant heat of St Marie. Well, maybe not the heat, but certainly the people.

Certain people.

A person.

 _Shut up,_ Richard told his inner thoughts, picking up the water bottle again and pressing it back to his forehead.

“Dammit,” Richard said, looking at the water bottle accusingly, as if blaming it for obeying the laws of physics and warming up to match the oppressive room temperature.

He looked at the clothes lying on the bed. They were a random assortment of mismatched items which he would never be able to cobble together into a costume.

Then, Richard’s eye caught the RAF hat, and he had an idea.

x-x-x

“What _are_ you?” Camille asked, putting her drink down on the bar. Her mother stared at him accusingly from behind the bar, as she begun to polish the wooden surface more vigorously. Richard always thought being around Camille’s mother was a little like walking on hot coals - you didn’t want to set down your foot too firmly or you would be horrendously burnt.

“RAF pilot,” Richard replied, taking off his father’s hat and placing it under his arm.

“You’re wearing what you usually wear,” Camille stated.

“Yes,” Richard affirmed, thanking Camille’s mother with a nod who handed him a delightful glass of squashed orange juice with ice cubes in. She shot daggers at Richard, and Richard made sure he concentrated his full attention on the drink in his hand.

“With a hat,” Camille laughed, tugging his father’s hat from under his arm and placed it at an angle on her bushy hair. Richard started to complain how such a hat was _supposed_ to be worn straight, but lowered his hand again when Camille shot him a look.

“Loosen up, Richard,” Camille said, her accent flourishing as she rolled the ‘ _R’_ of his name (Richard would never admit it out loud that her accent was very beautiful), “have _fun.”_

“It’s a fancy dress party,” Richard took a long drink from his glass to cool down from the heat. His jacket was far too thick for this kind of weather, and the tie was rather tight against his neck. He tried to loosen it a bit, undoing his top button as he did so.

“Watch out,” Camille joked, “party animal over here,”

“It’s hot,” Richard countered.

“You will dance this evening won’t you?”

“An Englishman does not _dance,”_

“Colin Firth did in that TV series, what was it called?”

“Colin Firth is not the blueprint for the English male race,” Richard muttered into his drink.

“Really,” Camille said, grabbing Richard’s arm and dragging him through the busy bar, his hat still balanced lopsided on her head, “you _are_ going to have fun this evening,”

“That might be a bit optimistic,” Richard muttered.

“Please,” Camille replied, just as Richard spotted Dwayne and Fidel sitting in the corner of the bar, dressed in some colourful outfit that only a national of St Marie could manage, “there is a fun man _somewhere_ in there.”

“If you do see him,” Richard replied dryly, “do alert me.”

The determined smile which lit up Camille’s face made Richard’s mouth quirk upwards in a small smile.

Yes, maybe he _could_ have some fun this evening.


End file.
